


Serenity

by koalathebear



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:15:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalathebear/pseuds/koalathebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set some time in an AU, bucolic future when everything has somehow worked out for that crazy couple :)  Set just after season 1 and written before I knew anything about season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Serenity

_"Come live with me and be my Love,  
And we will all the pleasures prove   
That hills and valleys, dale and field,   
And all the craggy mountains yield,"_ he quoted whimsically.

She glanced up at him questioningly, a very amused look in her eyes.

"I thought you were working. You can't be _that_ focussed if you're quoting Kit Marlowe at me," she told him. She unfolded herself from the sofa from where she had been lost in a book and walked over to the table where he had been working for the last few hours.

Standing behind him, she slid her arms around his neck, placing her cheek against his in a familiar embrace. Michael closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the cool, elusive fragrance that was her perfume and Sara. Even when she complained that she reeked of hospital antiseptic, he always laughed and claimed that he could still smell her perfume.

"Can I take that as a yes to my question?" he asked her and she slid her mouth down his jawline and smiled.

"You're being silly. I'm here with you aren't I? Besides. Craggy mountains? Valleys? I'm not really one for camping and the great outdoors."

Michael made a face. "I'm not that big on it myself anymore either," he said and Sara made a ssh noise of comfort, regretful at having reminded him. He and the others had been on the run for months. Camping out had been a necessity and not a leisure activity.

Two years had passed since Michael and the others escaped from Fox River. It was a year before Michael was finally able to clear Lincoln's name, inadvertently toppling the fledgling regime of President Caroline Reynolds. A startled vice president had been hastily sworn in to replace the disgraced President Reynolds and Lincoln Burrows had been cleared of all charges. Case closed.

Michael Scofield on the other hand had been far more problematic for the new administration. The law didn't usually have regard to good intentions. By his own confession, Michael had committed armed robbery and had been instrumental in the escape from Fox River of a group of extremely dangerous criminals. The media had cast him in the light of a hero and a martyr but it was clear that Michael Scofield would have to serve some form of punishment for his crimes.

After agonised deliberations in which public policy considerations were balanced against public relations, a community service order containing rather onerous conditions for an unusually lengthy period of time was handed down. The media exalted the sentence. A man such as Michael Scofield did not belong behind bars. It was much better that he paid for his crimes by performing services for the community.

Notwithstanding the almost overwhelming media attention, the last year had been the happiest year of Sara Tancredi's life. There had been times when it seemed as though everything was impossible. There had been times when the fragility of their relationship had been constantly on the point of shattering - Michael's guilt and remorse, Sara's self-reproach and doubt.

Sara still did not let Michael take the blame for everything that took place. "I take responsibility for the consequences of my own actions, Michael. It's not your fault."

"You know I was to blame."

"The overdose was an accident. I was stupid."

They had held many such conversations. Sometimes they argued, sometimes they cried, sometimes they fell silent and stared at one another in pain and disbelief. Lately, it happened less and less. Both felt that they were gradually starting to heal. Finally.

Sara had originally resisted his invitation to move in with him, ignoring his complaints about her tiny dump of an apartment. For her, her apartment had been her own quiet space and she had found Michael's apartment too modern, too large and too intimidating.

Nonetheless, in the end, his teasing had worn her down and she had found herself moving in with him although when asked, she always claimed that it was because Michael was a better cook than she was. It was true that he was a better cook and she often stood in the kitchen, providing assistance and serene commentary as he cooked. She enjoyed watching the pleasure he derived from the simple act of preparing their food. When she took the first taste, he always had an endearingly expectant expression on his face, an expression that became a smile or a look of disappointment depending on her reaction to the food. They were both complicated people who took pleasure in simple things.

Nonetheless, moving in with him had been a difficult decision.

 _"It's just an apartment ... and you can change it however you want."_

Sure enough, the rather stark, pristine bachelor pad had become a much warmer and more lived-in place. Although Michael always pretended to complain about the hippy, artsy craftsie stuff that Sara hung on the walls, she could tell that he liked the changes around him. A hand-stitched blanket from India, tossed carelessly over one end of the sofa provided splashes of unexpected colour and the silk cushions from Thailand interrupted the studiedly cool sterility of his apartment.

Sara frequently stretched out on the sofa with a book. There was nothing more peaceful than looking up and meeting Michael's warm gaze from where he sat working. He had a study, but he liked to sit where he could talk to her, glance over at her from time to time. She also liked watching his strong, slender hands holding the pencil as he sketched across a page. She often watched him as he turned the pages, his face filled with intense concentration.

That one day things would be like this was something she could never have imagined. She delighted in the pleasure of their time together. Sometimes she fell asleep on the sofa and blinked awake sleepily to the realisation that Michael was crouching beside her, smiling down at her with quiet joy in his eyes. He liked to trace slow, leisurely patterns on her skin with his fingertips, following them with his lips. She would smile as his cool mouth slid across her bare stomach, her t-shirt having hiked up and exposed her flesh while she was sleeping.

Sometimes, he carried her from the sofa to their bed. He always laughed when she protested that he shouldn't do it, that she was too heavy and that he would hurt his back. "I've got free medical, what do I care?"

All of those recent memories went through her mind now as she studied him. He was staring down at the paper before him steadily. "I guess quoting poetry was too subtle," he said and grimaced. He looked up at her with a slightly hesitant smile in his light eyes.

"What?"

"How do you think Dr Scofield sounds?" he asked her suddenly.

"You're thinking of getting a doctorate?" she asked him, looking faintly confused.

He looked exasperated. "Dr Sara Scofield," he elaborated and Sara's eyebrows lifted sharply.

" _That's_ how you propose marriage?" she demanded incredulously.

Michael looked sheepish.

"Well the poetry didn't work either." Sara laughed as she remembered the Marlowe quote.

"You're a nutter."

"Yeah." he said and he smiled at her. "I won't mind if you don't want to change your name, but Sara Scofield is quite nice...."

"A little alliterative, don't you think?"

"Michael Tancredi makes me sound like a crime boss," he pointed out.

That made her laugh. "You'd never change your name to mine."

"I would - just to piss off your father," he told her.

"Oh you do that just by existing," she told him ruefully.

"Do you need time to think it over?" he asked her. He still couldn't help wondering if she could ever truly forgive him for the things that he had done. Even if she ever forgave him, he was unable to forgive himself.

He knew that Sarah thought that she was flawed. He attended counselling sessions with her and saw how much it pained her to speak of her shortcomings. When she looked at herself in the mirror, she saw only the weakness but Michael saw the strength in her that made her keep fighting.

He reached up to try to draw her down towards him but she stepped out of his reach, a faintly mischievous expression playing across her face. Michael frowned disapprovingly, but he found himself laughing anyway as he rose to his feet.

When he tried to take her hand, she stepped out of his reach again and he muttered in frustration. The sunlight was shining through the hair falling about her face.

"You're being childish," he told her and made a grab for her. She eluded him. She moved gracefully like a dancer and eventually he gave up and lunged. She ran from him, laughing. He pursued her, making mock threats as he chased her down the hall and into the bedroom. Eventually he tackled her to the bed, laughing and she shrieked in laughing protest beneath him as they rolled in a tangle of arms and legs.

"Is this your way of saying that you could never accept a prison escapee with 8 toes?" he asked her and she quietened beneath him, turning serious for a moment. He touched his lips to her mouth, kissing her slowly and lingeringly and she kissed him back, her mouth clinging to his.

"You sure you want to marry a drug addict?" she countered. He hated the look of self-loathing that crept into her eyes.

"Given that I'm pretty sure I can't live without you, you're not the only one with an addiction," he told her.

"I'm serious, Michael."

"So am I, Sara." he told her, and he was. Even though she might never believe it, this woman had affected him from the moment they first met.

He traced a fingertip along her collarbone. Sunlight streamed over them and Sara closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to enjoy the peaceful quietness of the moment.

"Say yes," he whispered huskily and she smiled slowly, reaching up a hand to touch his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her hand.

"Michael Tancredi _does_ have a certain ring to it," she mused.

Laughter filled the unshadowed room as his mouth found hers again.

**The End**


End file.
